


That Point

by BeautifulWorld



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A bit of Headcanon, Depression, Gen, Going to be lots of hugs, Suidical ideation, Triggers for Suicide, Vent Writing, music therapy, will add tags as i add chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulWorld/pseuds/BeautifulWorld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has a breaking point, a time in their life when they feel they can't go on. This is Alfred's. </p><p>Can the nations come together to help one of their own?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this from a dream that I had a while back. The first chapter is basically that dream, and the rest is just expanding on that and kind of... helping me get through my own stuff. 
> 
> I hope that you enjoy reading!

_“Everyone has their breaking point…"_  
_

The room is booming. It feels like thunder, or an earthquake, but… he knows that it’s worse. Because those harsh claps of thunder- the violent tremors of the earthquake- are _voices._

They’re all yelling, and screaming, and drowning each other out… He isn’t sure how long they’ve been going at it anymore, isn’t sure how it began, isn’t even sure what they were fighting over in the first place… because they’re drowning _him_ , too. 

Their words are nonexistent- they’ve all blurred together. The noise, however… _that_ he feels. It’s tangible, and he wishes with all he has that it would stop. He wishes he could _make_ it stop. 

But he can’t.

The others have tried, he’s sure. Attempted. But now they’re all just waiting for it to die down. Waiting, waiting… 

He can never do anything. And he’s tired of waiting.

He’s so tired… 

The world is blurring now. It has been for a while, he thinks- slowly, yet all at once; the words melding together into noise piece by piece; the emotions that were left-the rage, the frustration- nearly mirroring his own… Nearly.

But it’s hard to mirror echoes.

Everything is just so _loud_. And they won’t stop, ever. It will _never_ stop. The noise is endless and, for some reason, he finds that he can’t listen to it anymore.  


He can’t take it anymore. 

He isn’t sure when it happened, isn’t sure of when that little thing inside of him snapped, but he’s standing.

He’s not sure of anything now other than how much he wants it to end. 

There is one more sound- just one- and it comes from him. It’s excruciating as he listens, as his hands slam into the table; as he hears the boom- the crack of thunder that silences the rest. It’s excruciating to _feel._

It hurts just as much as being numb.

The wood splinters underneath his hands, but he hardly feels it. He looks out at them because they’re staring- all of them. The room is utterly silent.  


He realizes he’s said something. 

And he knows what it was. He knows it was louder than all of them. He could feel how it echoed through the room, how it trembled as his hands are now. And he knows that unlike all of their stupid, petty, heated words… he had meant them. 

They stare, and stare, and he realizes that the silence isn’t much better. 

“Al..?” 

The brief, merciful break comes from his right. He can hear the worry in his brother’s voice, the concern that is unlike anyone else’s in the room. But he can also hear that bit of confusion, and it kills him just a little more inside. 

No one knows… No one _knew_. 

They don’t know what’s happening, and neither does he. 

He can’t look at his brother, at any of them… but, somehow, he does. He meets their now concerned gazes, and he knows that more than just his hands are shaking. His eyes are stinging violently, but he just doesn’t care enough anymore to hide what is coming.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than before. “I get it, okay..?” The fight is gone now. He’s done. He’s finished. “You won.”

There is no answer to his words… not right away. He vaguely wonders how he looks to them. A madman? Someone begging for release..? He doesn’t know. He looks away, and finds the table. 

The _broken_ table. 

As he stares blankly at the pieces, there’s a sound. A spluttering. He thinks that it’s Ivan, but he isn’t sure. He doesn’t know.

Then, again, there are words. The voice that guides them is familiar, and it holds a tone from long ago… even when it can’t finish. “Lad, what-”

He doesn’t let it finish. 

He clenches his fists, and grits his teeth. He repeats- he _pleads_ \- once more,

“Just shoot me.”  
_

_"...and I've reached mine."_


	2. Breaking Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred is shaking, the room is silent, and no one knows what to do... except a certain Canadian, of course. At least, he would like to think so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Still short, but I like it more than the rest i've written so far. I hope you all do too!

_“Don’t be fooled…”_  
-  
Alfred is hardly aware of what happens next… 

The silence is still there; still deafening. He’s still drowning, faster and more violently than he ever has before. His ears begin to ring, and he can’t feel the shaking anymore. He can hardly hear the words next to him; can hardly recognize them. 

It’s Matthew again. 

In the back of his mind he isn’t surprised that his brother is the first to break from his stupor; the first to take action. Somewhere, he’s grateful. 

…But he just wants to die. 

He knows that his brother can hear that; can see it. It makes him want to weep in the truest definition of the word when he knows that he hasn’t before.  
But somehow that doesn’t matter. All that matters is here; now. It matters because Matt is prying his fingers from the wood, as gentle as Alfred had always known his brother to be. It matters because Matthew smiles, and there is the most sincere apology to ever grace the Earth inside it. 

It matters because, in that moment- drowning or no- Alfred forgives him.

It feels like his legs are going to collapse, like he’s going to run away… but Matthew picks a happy medium. 

He grabs his hand and leads him out of the room. He whispers things- comforting things- because he knows that he can’t handle the quiet. He sends looks that Alfred can barely identify to the nations that had fled to the hall earlier, and- if he felt like he could breathe- he might have smiled. 

But he can’t breathe. Not well, anyway. 

His throat is dry, and it feels like it’s closing up. He can barely steer himself where his brother wants him to go because it’s so hard to see and to move and to do anything. But Matt tells him it’s okay- it’s going to be okay- and even though he doesn’t believe it he _has_ to hear it. 

It’s the only thing he _can_ hear besides the incessant thoughts in his mind and his own trembling breaths. It’s the only thing that gets past everything; that keeps him from shattering right then and there.

Then his brother leads him into a room, and its dark, and he can’t see… but he doesn’t need to. Because as soon as the door shuts, he can’t walk anymore. He can’t stand. He can’t speak. 

He thought he was done with crying, but right now… that is the only thing he _can_ do. 

And then… that’s when things get blurry. 

He remembers an embrace, and sobbing, and warmth, but… that’s about it. Then there’s blackness-sleep- and he has never been more grateful for it in his life. It takes over everything. It takes _away_ everything.

And he never wants to leave.  
.  
.  
.  
Then… then he wakes up. 

For a moment, things are fine. He still feels tired, but… it’s lighter than what he’s used to. It’s more of the sleepy kind of tired, when you want to shut your eyes again and go back to oblivion, but… when you want to stay awake and feel that content. 

Then, slowly, he looks around, because he doesn’t recognize where he is. There are ghosts of chairs neatly against the table, and the room is dark, and there’s a projector in the back-

And then it clicks. He remembers what he did, what he said… what the other nations must think. And he sits up. Anxiety has its grip on him. Panic is trying to follow, and he feels the need to run again. The need to escape. But… he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t because when he looks around, when he tries to find the door, he spots Matthew. He’s out in the hall. Francis is talking with him. Or… maybe to him. The words don’t reach him, but… something else does. 

Matthew is crying. 

He doesn’t remember all of what happened. The blackness has yet to fully leave his mind. But… even though it hasn’t… he still feels guilt. He feels like the worst person alive because he knows his twin is crying because of him. And he hates to see him cry. He loathes it. 

Alfred feels like he _should_ run, because no one should have to see him. No one _deserves_ to put up with him. Not now. Not ever again.

They hate him, he can feel it. 

He wants to go home and get his gun. He wants to use it. 

Something is burning in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t listen. If he listens, it will drive him insane. He’s about to get up and somehow push past his brother and everyone else who he knows is on guard, but- _damn it_ \- something else gets in the way.

It’s a hug. 

He blinks, and his heart practically quits beating. For a moment, he thinks that it’s Matthew again, but the frame is different; shorter. It has a different feel to it. Not bad, but…

It’s Arthur. 

He wants to push the man away, to get the hell out of there, but… he can’t. The brit’s arms hold him tight, though they don’t necessarily feel like a cage, and before he can start to figure something out a whisper slips into the silence. The words fill his ears and he’s so shocked by them that he can’t move. 

“It will be okay, love.”

Alfred nearly stops breathing now, too. Hell, Arthur may just kill him before he can do it himself. …But there’s confusion now, so much confusion. Arthur hates him, he’s sure of it, so… why would he… 

He hasn’t called him that in years… Not since… 

The man rubs his back, a gesture he remembers from his youth; on stormy nights or after terrible dreams. The embrace suddenly becomes familiar, almost painfully so.

He can barely process the beginning of the assurance because he’s so focused on the end.

He wants to say something, but his mouth won’t move. He wants to get up, but it feels as if his body is frozen in time. And, suddenly, his emotions betray him. He’s a child again and he’s trapped in the nightmare world of his mind, afraid more than anything else that his guardian will let go.

He finds himself listening for those words again; reaching for them… and he isn’t disappointed. He isn’t ensnared in an endless silence, or lost drowning in a sea of noise. The whisper comes again, the words pulling him back,

“It will be okay.”

He still wants to run, he still wants to die, and part of him hates Arthur for keeping him here. He hates them all for it. Or… most of him does. The rest… the rest is still that child. And it _needs_ this. It _craves_ it. And he just can’t make himself let go.

He doesn’t understand why they’re helping. He doesn’t understand it at all. But… for the moment, he accepts it. 

He’ll have time for the rest later, but for now… for now he lets that child be, and he listens for Matthew to join him again.  
-  
_“…the happiest face may be masking the most hurting heart.”_


	3. Deliberations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard for everyone to watch Alfred teetering over the edge... Can they get him to go a step in the right direction?

_"Depression is devastating..."_  
_

Arthur Kirkland had gone through many painful things in his long life. 

He had been relentlessly bullied by his brothers as a young child. Punched and kicked, soiled, beaten… They had left him with lumps, bruises, and vicious scars. He had been their punching bag and their only lesson in restraint when they went too far.

He had been forced out on his own any number of times, left with only his wits; with not a single ally to turn to. Many times he had suffered periods of incredible isolation that nearly drove him mad. 

He had gone against the code he had forged all those years alone and thrown it into the wind by taking in a child nation. He had watched that boy grow for years and years, both far too slow and too fast for his own good, only to be left with aching sorrow when he left and took part of his heart with him.

He had survived wars, bombings, and catastrophes; fires, floods, and magic. He had been through the War to End All Wars, only to fight in another. 

He had suffered nearly every battle scar imaginable… 

But none of that did anything to compare to the shot that had pierced his heart when Alfred had screamed. He wouldn’t have thought anyone could reach that volume, and yet Alfred had done it.

And now, even days later, it feels like it’s still ringing in his ears.

A sigh builds up in his chest and he doesn’t hesitate to let it out, eyes scanning the room until he find his boys. They aren’t hard to spot. They’ve been sitting in practically the same place all day, and there has been just about as little change in their mood. Alfred’s smile is still missing, the blank, tired expression stealing it away. He’s on his phone, like he has been for the last hour or so, doing… something. Arthur hadn’t a clue as to what it was. 

He wants to talk to Alfred, wants to get him to open up about whatever is going on, but… that really isn’t an option right now… No matter how much he wishes it was.  


The last few days haven’t exactly been a piece of cake. When they had gotten Alfred back to his house- as much as it pained him to admit it, even to himself- it was all they could do to stop him from attempting. They’d had to take any and every weapon available in the house, and that had left the lad in almost a worse state than he had been in before. And after that… Well, he avoided them all like the plague. 

Everyone, that is, aside from Matthew.

The Canadian seems to be the exception. He’s sitting on the floor, about as close to his brother as he can get without becoming imposing. He’s the only one Alfred will accommodate. It feels fitting in an odd way, considering how protective Matthew has gotten since the incident. Arthur isn’t surprised. In fact, if Matthew hadn’t reacted that way he would be seriously questioning the young nation’s health… 

But… he finds that he’s been doing that anyway because…it isn’t only that.

Matthew hardly lets him near. Hell, he hardly lets _anyone_ near, not even Francis. If another nation came in the door to have a chat with Alfred he’s sure that Matthew would just as soon bite off their head than he would let them get within a few feet of his brother.

Arthur is beyond worried, and at this point he isn’t afraid to admit that. Especially when they often disappear for hours at a time, giving him only vague explanations and forced words.

Honestly..? He isn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed how close they were… It was like they had hidden their bond all this time and only now was it made clear to them just how strong it was. He wouldn’t have guessed… even when he knew Alfred had stayed in contact with Matthew during his periods of isolationism; even when he remembered they shared the same land before the New World was discovered. 

He isn’t sure how to deal with it; how to understand it. When they were younger they hadn’t gotten along well until he had left for extended periods of time to see his other colonies…

He’s glad they have each other, but… he’s worried they won’t let him in. He’s worried they won’t let anyone in. 

“Arthur?” 

The voice comes with quiet footsteps, and Arthur finds his train of thought has been successfully stopped. He knows its Francis. There isn’t anyone else it could be. 

They’re both working on a solution to help Alfred, and even though the situation isn’t ideal… he’s just thankful that they have the option of finding help. It hadn’t always been like that… 

He meets Matthew’s eyes, because the thought of leaving the two makes him feel like he’s choking on air. The young nation nods, and, though he doesn’t want to, Arthur joins Francis in the kitchen. The Frenchman looks better than he did when he left to make the call. That’s… that’s good, at least. When they are out of earshot, he brings himself to ask. “…How did it go?”

There’s a sigh, but Francis manages a smile. “He said that we could bring Alfred by whenever he was ready. He also said today was alright if we could manage it.”

His stomach stops feeling like it’s been forced off of a cliff- if only a little- and he breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank God…” Arthur turns towards the living room, watching the boys. There is suddenly a very pressing issue at hand, and he isn’t sure how to go about it. “Now how are we going to convince them..?”

It isn’t just Alfred anymore. Matthew is almost as big of a hurdle to leap. 

Francis shrugs beside him, not looking too worried. “We might not have to… He did mention that if Alfred didn’t want to stop by, he could come here.” 

Oh… He nods, the scenario beginning to feel a tad familiar. “I think we’ll have to go with that… I don’t think Alfred is going to want to do anything anytime soon.”  


They leave the conversation at that and make their way to the living room. Alfred only shows vague interest in what they have been up to, but Matthew perks up. Before either can ask, Francis begins to explain. 

“I know that this is going to be hard for both of you, but…” he begins, fumbling on his words for once in his life. It’s more of an awkward start, but it is a start nonetheless. “There is one of us who you can talk to…if you want to.” 

Alfred practically flinches in his seat, lifting his gaze from his phone. His expression slowly shifts from a blank exterior to something filled with discomfort.  


Immediately, Matthew tenses and, contrary to his usual nature, tries to glare at them. Before he can speak otherwise, however, Arthur finds his voice. He stands firm, but not threatening; just to let them know it’s necessary. He says the first words that come to mind; the question that he knows they want answered. “You probably won’t like it… but it’s Roderich.” 

They seem to shift closer to each other, and Arthur understands why they’re so reluctant. They don’t know the Austrian well. In fact, they hardly see him outside of meetings and scheduled events… And he knows this confuses them. They don’t know why this is being asked of them. 

Francis fills them in, “Roderich is usually the one who talks to nations when this happens… And it has happened before.”

Yes, they both knew that all too well… 

Alfred tenses and, for the first time that day, there’s a flash of emotion across his features. It looks like guilt… but it vanishes as quickly as it appears. He whispers, eyes suddenly cast to the floor, “What if I’m not ready..?”

The sullenness in his tone breaks Arthur’s heart. His throat feels tight for a moment, a memory suddenly tugging at the corners of his mind. 

A younger, happier version of Alfred playing soldiers with him shortly after he returned from one of his trips; a small voice asking that same question when he spoke of the responsibilities of being a nation; a reply… “You won’t be ready for quite a while…” he remembers saying, the words suddenly getting past the tightness in his throat as he repeats them. “You may never be ready. But that doesn’t mean we can’t help you.”

Alfred blinks at him, a familiar expression flickering into place as silence greets his words. The conflict in it makes his heart ache… but Arthur knows this is- at the _very_ least- partially his fault. There’s no way around that… 

For the millionth time he asks himself, _how did I not see this?_

Matthew’s guarded posture begins to slump. It looks like he’s starting to realize that this is going to happen, with or without his approval. He could try to fight it, but it wouldn’t do them- or Alfred- any good.

Francis seems to sense the growing discomfort and continues, trying to ease it in any way he can. “We know you probably don’t want to do anything right now… and Roderich did say that he could come here if you were more comfortable with that.” At their hesitant expressions, he adds, understanding leaking into his voice, “it shouldn’t be for long.”

They wait, tense, as the two share a look. It lasts longer than it should, almost as if they are having their own little conversation, before Alfred sighs softly. He doesn’t look happy in the least, but he nods. “…alright…” 

Arthur relaxes, feeling at least a little relief at that. “Thank you…” 

Alfred shrugs in response, a bit of confusion showing at his gratitude, and Francis makes his way to the kitchen to let Roderich know he needed to get here before the two changed their minds.  
_  
There’s a knock on the door, and Arthur is the first to answer it. 

He opens the door to find Roderich waiting patiently, wearing more casual attire than he normally would. When the man sees him, he smiles. It’s encouraging in an odd way, and he manages one back, offering a brief thank you. 

The Austrian only shrugs it off. “I finished playing early. I had nothing else to do.”

It’s as close to a joke as he’s heard the man get, and it helps. He ushers him inside. It feels a little out of place doing so, considering this is Alfred’s house, but looking at the circumstances… he dismisses the idea. 

When Roderich sees the twins, he stops. He smiles at them faintly, and it reminds Arthur of when all of this happened to him…

Alfred doesn’t look pleased to see him, and he doesn’t pretend otherwise. Matthew only nods in his direction, an odd mixture of relief and frustration in his expression. 

Roderich isn’t fazed by their discomfort. He looks at them a moment, though only briefly, before he motions to the couch behind him. “Is it alright if I sit?”

The young nation in front of him blinks, his eyebrows furrowing, and Arthur- for some reason- has to fight the urge to smile. There were many reasons Roderich dealt with these matters… knowing to give Alfred a feeling of control in this situation was only one of them. 

Slowly, the American nods. Roderich sits formally, though not for long. His posture slowly changes, becoming more casual as he speaks. “I would like to talk with you for a little if that’s alright.” He looks to the older twin almost immediately and assures before he can protest, “I wouldn’t ask you to leave, Matthew. I’m sure Alfred wants you close by right now.”

Both brother’s pause, and Matthew relaxes. It isn’t much, but it’s more than they’ve gotten from him in the past few days.

The man turns towards him and Francis, the message clear. Arthur doesn’t like it, but he leaves them in private for now.

With any luck, they’ll be swayed to take the right step forward.  
_

Alfred isn’t sure what kind of game this guy is playing, but whatever it is… Roderich is good at it. 

He hasn’t asked a lot of questions, but the ones he has haven’t felt very threatening. He’s made sure to bring Matthew into the conversation. He hasn’t gone much further than mentioning the incident; hasn’t brought up his boss or the matter of whether or not he knows.

Honestly, he seems more interested in what’s been going on today. What has he done, is he tired, has he gone outside… 

Its… weird. 

Alfred answers occasionally, but he’s still frustrated with them. They took his gun away. They don’t understand at all… He doesn’t feel this way towards his brother, though… or at least not as much. And, with a little nudge from Matthew, he begrudgingly admits that he has been on his phone for most of the day.

Roderich lightly inquires what he was doing on it, but it doesn’t feel pressing. It doesn’t feel like he has to answer if he doesn’t want to.

Alfred slowly skims over the phone, looking through all the work he had accomplished over the last couple of hours. He doesn’t have to answer, but… he’s going to have to tell them anyway. 

Oddly, he accepts that. He might as well, before he finds some way to finish it.

He wasn’t writing suicide notes. He’s already done that. No… He turns to Matthew, because his brother is the only one who has listened; the only one he who understands. This has been their thing, and it doesn’t feel right to show it without his brother’s permission, even if he knows he needs to. 

Roderich doesn’t push them. He lets them talk, even though he doesn’t understand that they’re speaking. 

He’s gotten to know his brother well over the years. Mannerisms, ticks… They are closer to each other than with anyone else, and Alfred can easily read Matthew’s expression. It’s guarded, yeah, but beyond the surface it feels so open to him. Matthew agrees. It hardly takes a push. He knows that it’s vital, and it will make things a lot easier to explain. 

Still… he quickly signs, ‘Okay?’

Matthew nods back.

The tiredness- the numbness- approaches again, though it isn’t like it left. It just gets stronger. “I um…” He isn’t sure how to do this. He’s told Matt this stuff, besides the part about wanting to jump off a cliff every day, but this is… it’s different. He isn’t sure if he wants to do it. The recent bought of numbness makes it easier, but it also turns the situation into something much more difficult. 

The older nations across from him seems to understand this. “If it’s too soon, that’s alright.” 

It isn’t much, and that’s a good thing. It doesn’t make him retreat, and it doesn’t irritate him.

Slowly, he shakes his head. “Mmn… I probably should.” He frowns, his shoulders feeling like they’re made of lead. He’s so tired… This shouldn’t take this much energy. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal… It never was before. Alfred sighs and unlocks his phone, pulling up his work. 

Roderich briefly looks confused as he takes the device, but Alfred explains very briefly as he looks at the playlist, not in the mood to go on, “I write.”

There’s a genuine look of surprise on the man’s face, and he isn’t sure how to feel about it. Luckily, however, he doesn’t have to. His emotions don’t seem to want to wake from their hibernation anytime soon.

The surprise disappears quickly. Roderich doesn’t play the songs, and he doesn’t ask to. He only nods, as if he’s understanding why he knows the secret, but doesn’t mention that either. Not yet. Instead, he smiles. It’s genuine, which Alfred finds really odd, but the man suddenly hands his phone back. It makes him feel safer.  


He says simply, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Alfred only shrugs, something like a frown pulling at his lips. “It’s not that different from writing speeches.” He’s talking about the lyrics, but Roderich probably hasn’t figured out that he sings. His mind is blank on what to do next. He wants to include his brother, because it doesn’t feel right to leave him out if he doesn’t want to be, but… Matthew meets his eyes and shrugs. 

It isn’t the understanding that gets him. It’s the worry. 

Before they can say anything, Roderich seems to come upon the realization on his own. He nods, accepting the information, and moves on. 

_Four for you_ , Alfred thinks. But then, or course, Roderich ruins it.

“If you want to talk, you can always come by.” It’s clear by how he looks between them, he’s talking to them both. That isn’t Alfred’s problem. 

He just doesn’t want to talk. They don’t care, and he doesn’t see the point. 

For a moment, as he looks at them, Roderich pauses. There’s a look in his eyes, like he can see what’s going on in Alfred’s head.

The flicker of irritation in his stomach catches the American off guard, but that isn’t the only thing. 

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Roderich begins, looking towards him and just him. “I would like to talk with you individually first.” He barely pauses, continuing, “but I don’t think either of you would benefit from that at the moment.”

Fear slips in, cold and fast, to kick the irritation out. Anxiety is suddenly simmering in his stomach and Matthew nearly snaps into ‘Fight Me’ mode, which lets him know Roderich is absolutely right. 

_Yeah, no shit, Dr. Phil_ , his mind mutters, trying to push it all down.

Roderich continues, “I also know it is going to be hard for you to do this, and I would like for him to be with you for that… That said, you can let me know when you would like to come by. If you would rather me give you a date, I will, or if you would rather not come at all… I can’t force you.” 

Oh… Well he certainly wasn’t expecting the freedom to choose. Not since the stunt he pulled… Not since he screamed.

The Austrian smiles briefly and begins to get up. “You could start with the songs, or the others can listen first, if you’d like…” He trails off, but doesn’t look to be gauging their reactions. Instead, he adds, a hint reassurance in his tone, “Remember that not all therapy is how they portray it in stereotype.”

And that’s the end of their talk.

_  
_"...and there is no shame in getting treatment."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to impliment my one major headcanon in. I thought about taking it out, but I honestly can't think of this story without this aspect anymore.
> 
> Headcanon: Alfred and Matthew write music to express themselves or vent. 
> 
> I hope that all of you will like how it's incorporated into Alfred's healing process. Thank you all for reading and please let me know what you think!


	4. The First Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've managed to convinced Alfred to see Roderich, but he isn't expecting much. In fact, he's dreading it. Maybe Roderich has a few more surprises in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy the chapter! The song Alfred plays later can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uPkHU3W9COQ  
> You can listen to it while reading if you like for a greater effect. What lyrics are in here belong to Starset.
> 
> I'm working on writing more chapters. I have the next few planned out. Please feel free to let me know what you think!

_"Smiling has always been easier..."_  
_  
Alfred really doesn’t want to exist today. 

Today is the day he’s talking to Roderich; the day they’re all going to try to convince him he should stay alive; the day they’re going to make him describe all the emotions that keep him up at night, even though he doesn’t know how; the day they-

He forces himself to stop.

Those thoughts are coming back, and he tries to push them away. He shoves, he screams at them to leave him alone. He tries to force them back into that far away corner of his brain so that he can never hear them again. He tries to lock them there forever. 

They aren’t the thoughts telling him to die… They’re the ones telling him that he _won’t_. 

The room suddenly feels suffocating. _Everywhere_ feels suffocating. He feels so trapped and alone, even when he’s surrounded by those he should call family. But he knows that they’re watching him, waiting for him to act up again; waiting for the urge to get the better of him. 

He wishes he could lock them away too… even if he knows they’ll hate him even more for it. 

Matthew is the only one who feels different; whose worried glances he accepts. For some reason, even after all he did, all that he has done… he feels that his brother doesn’t hate him. But right now… right now Alfred wishes that he did. He deserves it… and it would make everything so much easier. 

He sighs softly, glancing nervously towards the hallway. Everything inside him is on edge, grasping at straws; at anything that could be a distraction. He isn’t sure why he hadn’t gotten Roderich to come to his house, or even outright refused either option…

It’s probably that little bit of curiosity. And the fact that part of him really doesn’t want to stay in that damned house anymore, even if the rest of him just wants to lay around and sleep. 

A hand presses against his shoulder and Alfred jumps. But, moments later, he makes himself relax- just a little- because he knows it’s Matthew. Matthew, who has been with him since the beginning. Matthew, who is just as nervous as he is.

He tries to smile, but it doesn’t work. 

Matthew gives him one of his own. It’s strained, but reassuring all the same, and the message is clear; they’re going into this together, and he doesn’t have to pretend. 

Alfred’s shoulders droop. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’s been holding. 

…He doesn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.

Slowly, they return to waiting. Hopefully the anticipation is the worst of it… but his thoughts say otherwise. His brother pulls a topic out of nowhere so that it won’t be so quiet and it brings a ghost of a smile to his lips.

It doesn’t take long before Roderich appears in the living room, though. 

The numbness that had settled in with his blank expression suddenly moves to the side. It’s still there in the background, but it doesn’t stop his heart from feeling like it’s dropping into his stomach on an endless loop. Especially when it slowly dawns upon him that the man will probably want to talk with him one on one before Matthew joins. 

It’s a little difficult not to shift uncomfortably in his seat- or, for that matter, run very, _very_ far away.

It will be a short talk. He knows that. But that doesn’t make it any easier. 

Roderich nods for he and Matthew to follow, but, considering how his brother’s expression has shifted, they both know. Matt doesn’t like it any more than he does, but it seems he’s going to let it go this one time. 

They walk out of the living room and down the hallway, away from Arthur and Francis’s worried and reassuring gazes. One turn, another, a new hall… and then they stop. 

The door opens, and Roderich nods his way. He gives a business like smile, but there’s a hint of something less so. Worry and even a little assurance are behind it all, though Alfred can’t tell if that’s for his or Matthew’s sake. 

He takes a step, internally groaning, and sends a look to his brother on the way in. Part of him hopes it’s reassuring, but the rest knows it was panicked. 

_Hurry the hell up_ , he whispers to the numbness that he’s already grown so used to.

His brother’s hands move before his mouth does. ‘It won’t take long,’ he signs, ‘I promise.’

Alfred replies with a grimace and pleading eyes, but manages a nod. He enters the room and reluctantly shuts the door, finding a place when Roderich prompts him to “sit wherever he likes.” There aren’t many spots to choose from, just a medium sized sofa and a recliner or two. He cautiously finds his place on the edge of the sofa, watching as Roderich moves towards the-

…the piano..?

That takes Alfred completely off guard. He makes a face, suspicion clouding his expression as the Austrian sits at the piano bench. His posture is looser than it usually is, and Alfred knows that that’s probably for his benefit. 

The tactic works a little, but only just.

Roderich gives him a small, patient smile as if he wasn’t expecting anything less. “I’m sure you’re confused,” he sympathizes, glancing towards the instrument. “But I did tell you that there were other types of therapy. This is only one of them.”

The image still isn’t clicking in his mind. This is _way_ different than how he had imagined the scenario to go. 

The smile becomes almost amused. It isn’t patronizing though, not like he had come to expect. Roderich strikes a key thoughtfully, explaining, “Music therapy. You said that you wrote, and I thought that something involving music might be more helpful.”

He really doesn’t want to react at all, but these surprises are not helping with that. “…seriously?”

Roderich puts a hand on the keys, nodding. “Absolutely.” He strikes one key, and then another after that. More notes follow, coming together in a melodic, joyful little tune. 

Alfred’s eyebrows furrow. The sounds are making the hole in chest feel bigger, and he doesn’t like it. The numbness that had been put off by the initial shock of the room begins to rush back. 

“This is what you were expecting our talk to be like, correct?” The man glances his way, one foot moving to the pedal to extend a note. “To talk about things, try to remind you how happy you could be? Pour out everything like they do on television?” 

There’s a particularly lively section of keys and Alfred glowers internally, his face only showing small cracks in the mask that he’s worn for years. He doesn’t have to nod to display his agreement. Roderich already knows. 

The tune stops, much to his relief. The Austrian’s expression becomes more serious. “Well… It will be quite the opposite of that, in fact.” He turns back to the piano and shifts his hands downwards. The notes come again, but this time they’re in a low, minor key. Instead of a happy sing song melody the tone is dreary and melancholy.

It catches his interest. The hole inside him seems to grow for a moment, but it shrinks as he listens.

“Does this one feel better?” 

He nods slowly, because it does. 

The tune goes on for several more measures, until Roderich tapers off at a particularly low note. He turns to face him, continuing, “We start with where you are, nothing more.” Then, briefly, his eyes flicker to the door. 

Alfred can practically see his brother waiting, and not very patiently at that. He stands, despite feeling like he weighs a great deal, and opens the door. Matthew meets his eyes on the way in, questioning, but then he sees the room. 

He stops. 

“…whoa.”

That’s when Alfred notices the far wall. 

It isn’t just piano that’s here. There are two violins propped up in the back, along with several different kinds of guitars. Acoustic, bass, _electric_ \- the surprises just keep on coming. “I wouldn’t have thought you had one of those.”

Roderich only shrugs, moving from the piano to one of the recliners. He knows exactly what instrument they’re talking about. Offhandedly, he says, “I thought you two might like to play it.”

Matthew picks up his train of thought, and smiles faintly. “But you _do_ have one.”

The older nation smiles just a bit before rolling his eyes. “Technically, yes.” A quiet follows, and he watches them, like he knows. They don’t want to go into this conversation, and they don’t know where things are going to go from here.

Roderich sits forward and Alfred notices that there’s no notepad-or really anything he would expect a therapist to use- anywhere. That helps ease his nerves a little-give him some relief... but it still isn’t much.

“We don’t have to talk if you aren’t comfortable with that,” he explains, momentarily glancing towards the piano. “You could play if you like.”

For a moment, Alfred is sure that he’s been having some weird nightmare this entire time. Matthew, these terrible thoughts and feelings, Roderich letting him play his _piano_ for God’s sake. For a moment, it feels as if he might wake up…

But he doesn’t. 

He sighs softly. Force himself to stand again, or play music… The former doesn’t sound ideal, but he does it anyway. The piano bench is pretty comfy, and he’s sure it has to be for how long Roderich spends on it. The keys stare back at him when he looks, and he begins to think vaguely of how he should start this off. 

A particular song finds its way into his mind, one that seems to fit his emotions-or lack thereof- at this point. It’s one of his… but it’s new. Not even Matthew has heard it yet, and playing it in front of Roderich doesn’t seem right…

His brother catches his eyes, smiling softly. The message is clear.

_Just pretend it’s you and me._

Roderich seems to know his other concern right off the bat and adds, “The room is soundproof. No one else will hear.”

Alfred glances around the room, just to make sure that the man is right, and… it only confuses him further. He asks, not too concerned but knowing he should be, “…How?” There are a few panels around the room to get better acoustics, but there’s none of the usual material to keep that sound from escaping. No soundproofing panels, nothing on the floor or the ceiling… 

Roderich answers that, too. He glances towards the edges of the room, an almost nostalgic expression crossing his features. “Magic keeps it soundproof.” When he and Matthew can’t help but stare, he explains, “It was a result of Arthur coming here. Lukas played a little part in it as well.”

…Oh. That’s one thing that makes sense, at least.

Alfred finds himself nodding, placing his hands in the right position on the keyboard. Slowly, he presses a few keys… and then a few more after that. They start to come together, mold and repeat.

The song begins. 

It isn’t particularly fast, but it isn’t exactly slow either. Alfred pushes through the first few measures, but all he wants to do is stop and walk away. It doesn’t feel right to play in this space; to play at all. The urge to run comes flying back- like warning bells clanging uncomfortably in his mind- and all he wants to do is listen to it.

But he’s listening to the music too, and a part of him is already lost in it. His finger movements are mechanical, as is his foot on the pedal, and yet they feel natural at the same time. The rhythm that he’s playing feels like it’s endless, but he knows better. 

A sudden set of notes, a shift of one of his hands to a lower portion of the keyboard…

The song builds. It isn’t as loud as he wants it to be- it still doesn’t feel right- but it’s enough. The cautious feeling shrinks; the bells stop ringing as loudly.

The first verse begins soon enough. Alfred plays through the notes with ease, solely focused on the instrument. The numbness starts to give way the music, his emotions rolling in the waves the notes create. 

It’s still whispers, still echoes, but it is something.

A dull sadness sweeps from his fingers, and a hint of desperation follows. The chorus hits. He doesn’t sing, but that does nothing to stop the lyrics from popping into his mind. 

_Can you tell me what is real..? ‘Cause I’ve lost my way again…_

Both hands press down, holding a chord, but soon enough they go their separate ways. Alfred hums along briefly, oddly calm.

 _Can you tell me how to feel..? ‘cause I don’t feel anything, now that I’m down here again…_

The notes are stronger now. He can feel them briefly as they carry into the room, as the tempo quickens unnoticeably; powerful, calming.

_I’m down with the fallen again._

The starting melody returns and this time he flows with it, just like those bits of emotion are. The notes grow and shrink, flow and constrict, as they come together. It’s nearly seamless, and, for a moment, everything else disappears. He hardly has to focus on where his hands are going, on what notes he needs to hit; that doesn’t matter. At this point, that’s all instinct. The sound is the only thing that’s real.

Soon, the music drops and slows. Another verse comes and goes, but the feeling telling him to run doesn’t. He plays the notes stronger than before, and they build with him. He can mold them into whatever patterns he wants, and they will listen. 

For a brief moment, he doesn’t feel the weight that has been stacked so heavily on his shoulders. For a brief moment… he is in control.

The music drops suddenly, becoming softer. He changes rhythm, the notes growing louder and louder. 

For a brief moment… he can breathe. 

The chorus returns, and it feels a little more complete this time; a little more right. It repeats once, then twice, as he makes it grow softer and softer. He hits the final note and it all fades away… 

Or maybe it all comes back. 

The quiet has returned and he bites back a sigh. The whispers gradually follow it, and with that the urge, but slowly he turns to his brother and Roderich. Concern still looks at him through their expressions and, in some ways, it’s just as pressing as before. 

But for now, it’s relaxing. They won’t ask if he isn’t ready to tell. 

Roderich gives him a small smile that is mostly unreadable, and he doesn’t care to look much further. The emotions that had briefly made their reappearance are hiding again, and part of him wishes they would come back; part of him _wants_ to tell.

The rest though… not so much. 

“That was lovely.”

Alfred blinks out of his stupor, eyebrows furrowing, and looks at the Austrian. There are no signs that he’s saying that to make him feel better. It sounded oddly… genuine. He shrugs, unsure of what to say. He catches Matthew nodding, though, and his brother is smiling slightly. 

This time, the smile is real. 

He manages a smile back, automatically getting up from the bench. Moments later, however, Roderich’s voice cuts in, and it makes him pause.

“You can keep playing if you’d like.”

Alfred looks from the instrument to the older nation, and back again. When no particular answer comes to mind for either way he _could_ respond, he shrugs and sits back down, meeting his brother’s eyes.

No song is coming to mind either… Not one that would keep the smile there, anyway. 

Roderich said they would start where he is, but… the question is if he can let them see just _how_ far he’s sunk into this hole. 

Matthew immediately seems to understand. He’s by the bench in seconds, motioning for him to scoot. And scoot he does, allowing his brother to sit to his left. More notes fill the air, and there they remain for the rest of the session, but they aren’t sickeningly cheerful; they aren’t like the mask of a smile he had to wear day after day. 

…and he’s grateful.  
-  
_"...than explaining why you're sad."_


	5. The Second Session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred's second session with Roderich.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instrumental to the song in the chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPIdVtgQP-s
> 
> Full song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAMiX5EEbFU
> 
> All rights go to the original owners. Hope you all enjoy!

His fingers twitch at the keys. His teeth are on edge. 

There’s an unbelievable frustration- like fire in his veins- and Alfred hates it. He _loathes_ it, and all of the emotions that come barging in with it.  
Damn them… 

Roderich’s eyes are on him, probably analyzing every bit of what he’s doing. It’s only been a few days since he first came here with Matthew and the others, but this time it’s worse… 

It feels like he’s inside a cage, and there’s no way out… 

Part of him is terrified. It still is, and that will never change. But he wants to jump... Heck, he wants to get one of his planes… 

“Alfred.”

He snaps back, his teeth grinding against each other. For a moment, he silently-if halfheartedly- glares at the other nation. If there were a punching bag around, he would demolish it… but he can’t. So, instead, he finally meets the piano’s stare. He plays. His fingers suddenly press against the keys, the rhythm that jumps from them far more fast-paced than the last.

Almost instantly, he’s sucked in; he’s lost. The rhythm grips him and doesn’t let go… and he doesn’t want it to. One note after the other, constantly flowing…  
It sounds almost as angry and as desperate as he feels… but it isn’t enough. 

It isn’t as fast as he wants it to be; it doesn’t make the stupid urge or the constant hollowness in his chest fade. For a moment, the frustration grows. It seeps to every part of him, and he just wants it all to stop. _Right_ here. _Right_ now. 

For a moment, he thinks, _this is the worst it will ever be… and it won’t get better_.

It’s like when Roderich played that piece before… It gets a little better when he reaches the first verse. 

He slows down a little, the notes becoming more melodic. They blend together, and the lyrics he wrote in their place emerge swiftly from the fog in his mind. They aren’t like last time, though… They’re strong, and full of just about every emotion he had inside of him when he wrote them. 

Those emotions were obviously starting to show themselves again, and part of him is urging them on. He wants to let them take over. He wants to feel, and, as he continues, it begins to seem like he is; the bit of anxiety protruding in his stomach, the fuel to the angry fire beginning to burn inside him. 

His hands pick up the pace, and it feels like there’s something in his throat. …humming, that’s what it was. He’s humming. 

The chorus hits, and Alfred has to force himself to keep his strength in check. 

He wants to slam his hands down on the keyboard. He wants to _feel_ the chords, the rhythms- _everything_. He wants to lose himself more than he already has. 

And he is.

The notes come more smoothly, the world that has already begun to disappear fading all the more. It doesn’t even feel like he’s moving anymore; he just is. And it feels good. Even though there is no relief, or any pleasant emotion, there are emotions nonetheless. 

Some of it seeps out into his playing, making the song feel darker; richer. 

He repeats a series of notes and leans into the next verse. The next set of lyrics are back with a vengeance, and he speeds up his fingers. The song is going faster than it should be, but he doesn’t care. It feels right to rush, and he’s going with it. 

Soon enough, he’s slamming his fingers down again. The chorus returns with stinging reverie. He can feel a ghost of a smile at his lips, and he doesn’t think about what might take it away. Not now. Instead… his voice comes out of nowhere. It isn’t loud, or boisterous. It doesn’t match the quality or volume he would use if he were alone, or with Matthew. Instead, his voice is softer. It feels wrong to sing here, but he doesn’t let that stop him. No, Alfred focuses on the music filling his ears, and the lyrics in his mind.

“Carnivore..! Carnivore..! Won’t you come digest me?” He moves to a few staccato notes, trying to push it a little more. “Take away everything I am-”

Part of him wants the feelings to stay, because he can’t go back to emptiness; he can’t return to the abyss. But still… “Bring it to an end..!” The notes crescendo, building further. He’s a part of the music, a part of the instrument, and the lyrics briefly pass in one ear and out the other. Existing, but not really there. 

More notes come, quicker and quicker, repeating. And then, suddenly, they slow down. They sound calm- like a dim, steady sadness. Alfred hums along slowly, moving to a higher register a few moments later. The high, ringing notes slow, and then- 

Boom.

Everything crescendos. Everything explodes. 

He restrains from using his strength, but only just, as the music resonates through the room. Through him. He restrains the urge that is scratching at its walls, and pushes through. The rhythms change, the notes slow… 

The last chord resonates around him, and his shoulders slump. Breathing slowly- much calmer than before- Alfred stares at the keys. His shoulders and the only thing that’s drooping. He’s tired… drained. 

The only thing he would do with a punching bag now is use it for a giant, uncomfortable pillow. 

It’s hard for him to see if Roderich has noticed… It’s hard for him to focus on anything really. Where all that energy went, he has no idea… but he doesn’t really care.

Slowly, he looks at the other nation. The man meets his eyes, something a little different about his expression. Alfred can’t figure out what it is… but it’s comforting to see. “Can I take a nap or something..?” For a moment, he wonders if he had misread. “…is that okay?” He hasn’t been here very long, and he doesn’t want to waste the other man’s time…

He’s just so tired…

Roderich nods politely, assuring him that it is perfectly fine. They both know it will take a bit for the others to get back. “Of course. The couch in the living room folds out if you would like to use that.”

With a nod, Alfred makes his way into the hall, but in all honesty… He wouldn’t have cared if Roderich told him to sleep on the kitchen floor. He’d still do it. At the moment, the floor looks just as comfortable as a couch would, and part of him doesn’t want to keep walking. Eventually, though, he reaches the living room. It feels different than before, though it hasn’t been too long since he had gone back to the music room with Roderich. 

He knows that, and yet… it feels like it’s been forever. 

His movements are mechanical- one after the other- and soon enough he’s lying down, back turned to the rest of the room. Eyes closed, he tries to block out the light in the room and whoever else is in it. He tries to feel comfortable. 

It isn’t too hard, but that isn’t what surprises him.

A blanket is thrown over him, and a few memories pop out from the fog. A reassuring smile, the warmth of an embrace, a very distinct voice humming a distant tune… The memories smile at him and attempt to ease the worries that are fluttering around his mind. That’s exactly what the person who gave him the blanket is trying to do, too. 

Alfred glances over his shoulder, and Arthur gives him a small smile. It’s weird, because it was rare for him to get a genuine smile before all of this happened… “You never could sleep without one,” he mutters, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

Yeah… he remembers that, too. Always fearing that the monsters would get him if he wasn’t covered up; that they would drag him far away or hurt Arthur. Alfred nods in thanks, still a little confused by the older nation’s behavior, and turns away, shutting his eyes again.

…It was too bad that most of the monsters were inside his head now.  
_

It’s a nice day- the sun shining brightly, people out and about carrying on with their business. Everything is normal, just as it would be any other day… and that’s exactly why it feels so wrong. Things are breaking down around him… and he is still stunned by the world’s ability to keep going, even when his has stopped. 

Yes, the world keeps turning… and though he’s young, it feels like its leaving him behind. 

Matthew sighs softly, his pace slowing momentarily as Roderich’s house comes into view. He’s almost there…Almost back.

His boss had called earlier that morning and, much to his distaste, he hadn’t been able to refuse the meeting. It had been necessary, unfortunately… even though he hated every second of it. 

A voice slips in from behind him, and he nearly stops in his tracks. He’d forgotten Francis for a moment… and though the he finds the older nations presence a little frustrating, he’s glad that the man came with him. He wouldn’t have been able to explain the situation on his own. Wouldn’t have even come close…

For a moment, his tone is a little different than the one he’s been using these past few days. It’s still gentle, but there’s something else to it… “You did well today, mon petit… I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you did.” 

Suddenly, Francis is matching his strides. He had been giving him space for most of their trip, which Matthew appreciated, but that seemed to be forgotten now. The man meets his eyes, a small smile making its way onto his face, and Matthew sees that tinge of emotion he hasn’t been able to recognize. “I’m proud of you.”

He stops completely at the words. There is a little of the warmth he thought he would feel at hearing them. It grows, but there’s also something else… and he _knows_ what that is. It stings… Tears suddenly in his eyes, the frog in his throat… but he sees the look on his father figure’s face- the concern- and he manages a smile and a nod as he forces himself pick up his pace. “Merci…”

Francis doesn’t believe the façade. He’s probably been able to see through it since that meeting… but he lets it go. He doesn’t pester, and he lets Matthew walk as quickly as he wants to the door. 

But he’s not walking. Not really. He’s practically jogging, and it’s only when he’s inside that he allows himself to slow down- to look around. After a moment, his eyes adjust. Alfred is still here. He’s still fine- or as fine as he can get. He hasn’t relapsed… Everything is the same, though he isn’t sure why he expected different… 

_It’s just paranoia_ , he reminds himself, taking a shaky breath. _Lots and lots of paranoia_.

The room looks alright. Oddly enough, it feels like time hasn’t moved at all- like he never even left. Considering how Alfred got sometimes in that mood, it is a little surprising. Maybe Roderich really does know what he’s doing…

There’s something telling him that he needs to calm down, and he listens. He forces his breath to slow, and his body to relax as he walks to where he assumes Alfred is. 

The living room is larger than what he suspected, but he isn’t sure why he’s surprised. The size is nothing for a house built in the time period that Roderich’s was. Still…where time had stopped before, now it feels like he’s walked into another time period altogether. In an odd way, its… comforting. A lot of things have an older, nostalgic look to them, much like Arthur’s house. And, though he doesn’t know the man very well, it seems to fit Roderich… right down to the furniture in the room. 

Speaking of which… Matthew smiles softly when he sees Alfred lying on the couch. He isn’t quite sure if his brother is asleep or not. There’s a blanket draped over him-probably from Arthur- and it feels as much…

No, Alfred really is asleep. His breathing is nice and even, and he looks more peaceful now than he has been awake… 

Moments later he finds himself lying next to his brother on the reclining part of the couch. It’s comforting to feel the warmth next to him- to remind him that Alfred is there. The familiar weight he had pushed back moments ago settles on his shoulders and inside his chest. It feels like a hand is wrapped around his throat, crushing his windpipe. 

No. He shuts his eyes, pushing the nauseating feeling back. Alfred is next to him. He’s… he’s fine. 

For a moment, Matthew watches the far wall, and makes himself focus on one spot. He makes himself stop thinking, just for a moment. Sleep isn’t the only option, he reminds himself. He can lie here and make sure Alfred stays alright. He can help if anything happens… 

The feeling starts to fades, and he breathes a sigh of relief.  
.  
.  
.  
The next thing he knows, there’s a hand shaking his shoulder. He mumbles something, brain slowly clicking on. There isn’t enough energy in him to raise his head, so he opens is eyes. 

Slowly, Matthew’s eyes adjust. A blob that looks relatively like Arthur is in front of him, a hazy jumble of words coming from somewhere nearby.

“…huh..?” He mutters, squinting. He’s already reaching for something, fumbling for it. 

The blob moves and grabs that thing from someplace out of his reach, placing it on the bridge of his nose. 

Oh. Glasses… Right.

Matthew adjusts them, rubbing one eye. Had he… fallen asleep? 

“Sorry to wake you…” Arthur whispers, slowly moving to a standing position. “But everyone’s here.” 

A pit suddenly opens in Matthew’s stomach, and his eyes widen as he remembers why they had come to Roderich’s in the first place. “…right,” he mumbles. He takes a few moments to blink the sleep away, and takes in Arthur’s voice. It’s quiet, almost cautious. Judging by the rhythmic movement next to him, Alfred is still asleep.

Matthew gets up with the same caution, smiling briefly as he gives Alfred once last glance. It doesn’t last long though. “…He’ll be okay, right?”

Arthur nods in return. “…my friends will be watching him. They’ll let me know when he wakes up. And we’ll check up on him.” There’s a pause, and Arthur realizes that isn’t exactly what he meant. His gaze softens, and he slowly meets his eyes. “He will get through this. We’ll help him with that, trust me.”

It isn’t enough, and Arthur knows that… but that doesn’t make the assurance any less genuine. “…okay.”

This was going to be a long day.


	6. The Playlist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nations listen to the playlist Alfred put together, hoping to understand what led to the events of the last meeting.

__

_“When you are happy you enjoy the music. But when you are sad, you understand the lyrics.”_  
_  
There are more nations in the room than he expects… More than there should be, in all honesty. All that Alfred had some relation with. It may be the protectiveness that’s taken a hold since the incident, but…he’s starting to wonder. Do they all really need to be here?

And then they all look up. They don’t look at Arthur, who had entered before him, but… they look at him. And there’s no mistaking it. They see him. All of them. He should be relieved, but instead...

It… it feels so _wrong_. 

For a moment, Matthew wants to leave the room. He wants to go back to his brother, and let them handle the songs; let them hear all the things they had overlooked. But… he had overlooked those things too. He deserves to listen… and he needs to explain this to them… 

He’s the only one that can.

Matthew finds Francis on the couch, and the man meets his eyes. He nods to the spot next to him, between he and Arthur. As Matthew plops between them, he tries to meet everyone’s gazes… but it’s difficult. Their sympathetic stares from that meeting are all he can think about and, whether they are there or not, they are all he can see now. 

Roderich clears his throat from a chair near the front, and- thankfully- directs the attention away from him. “Thank you all for coming.” 

So he hadn’t addressed them all yet… Strangely, that doesn’t make him feel any better. 

He continues, “One of our own has reached that point, and I’m glad that all of you were able to come so that we can understand how to help him through it.” 

Now _that_ … that does make the thought of what comes next a little easier; the words just a little lighter in his mind. They are all here so that they can help… and they’re putting aside whatever differences they have in order to do so. 

There’s a moment of silence as everyone settles. Some nod, waiting quietly. It’s a weird thing to watch. Roderich turns towards him, his gaze filled with a polite encouragement. “Whenever you’re ready, Matthew.”

Taking a slow breath, he nods. For a moment his fingers only fiddle needlessly in his lap- unable to do anything- before he brings himself to dig into his pockets and fish out his brother’s phone. “Um… well…” Matthew watches the device as he speaks, as if it’s alien- as if the sound of his own voice is alien.“…Alfred has always had a way of venting. It’s been one thing or the other over the years, but mostly… he uses music.” The silence around him makes him pause, and he has to remind himself to breathe. “It may sound hard to believe…” he continues, praying they won’t make him repeat himself, “but he writes songs. Sometimes his bands get the lyrics stuck in their heads and write them down. They use them. I’m sure you all have had something like this happen to you.”

Everyone nods, though most (not very discreetly) glance at Kiku. 

“Alfred… he’s given you permission to hear what he’s written. Some of the songs in here are stuff that he hasn’t even shown me.” He slowly looks out at them, voice growing softer... and then it hardens. Matthew knows that most of them never meant the things they said or did to his brother, and… if they had at one point it is well past that time now. But still… despite that, he can’t really forget it either. “Please listen to what he has to say…” To the effect everything has had on him… “And please… don’t abuse it.”

There’s a collective moment of silence around him as everyone takes in his words. No one asks him to repeat them… A few even give him a small nod in agreement.  
Across from him, Gilbert meets his eyes. He smiles, and it’s somehow reassuring. 

Matthew tries his best to give his friend a smile back, but his mouth doesn’t want to work. Instead, he unlocks Alfred’s phone and pulls up the playlist. It’s a bit longer than he expected… It’s understandable why it took Alfred so long to make it. 

Before he can think better of it, he presses play.

_

The songs start off in a lighter tone, and Matthew knows almost immediately that Alfred put the list in chronological order. The weight on his shoulders, for the moment, feels just a bit lighter. Even feeling as terrible as he does, Alfred is still trying to lessen the burden he has to carry.

The thought alone is almost enough to bring fresh tears to his eyes. Matthew pushes them back, and, this time, he wins. He’s cried enough… Again, he has to remind himself that he needs to be strong right now. 

This is about Alfred, not him.

“…Mon dieu, is that really his voice?”

Matthew blinks, forcing himself out of his thoughts. The recording comes into focus, the all too familiar guitar chords reminding him which band is playing. Moments later, the singer returns. There’s no doubt that it’s Alfred’s voice, even to the nations who haven’t heard him at his best. Matthew nods and gives a true smile, pride mingling with the previous sadness in his tone. “Yeah, that’s him.” 

Alfred’s voice could be loud, yes, and occasionally tone deaf… but that was mostly just for laughs. When he wanted to he could make some truly beautiful and moving music, especially with the lyrics he wrote. 

The first few songs pass, surprisingly, with few interruptions. The list continues, playing a country song or two Alfred always used listen to, before it shifts back to more rock or alternative pieces. Out of the corner of his eyes, Matthew spots Roderich writing on the notepad he only just noticed.

Questions slowly begin to pop up in the pause that ensues, one after the other.

“How long has he been able to sing like that?”

“Did he write all of these?”

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?”

And then… they all look to him. Their eyes seek answers, but his find it hard to hold their gaze. His mouth suddenly feels dry, all the possible responses clamoring for a way out of his throat.

Roderich’s voice cuts in through his panic. “Not all at once, everyone. Give him a moment.” His amethyst eyes meet Matthew’s. “Take your time. You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable.”

He releases the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, shooting the man a grateful glance. It takes longer than he would like to find himself able to speak again. “He’s… been able to sing well for some time now. He worked to get better, but he just liked singing off to make everyone laugh…” He pauses- hesitates. “He… he didn’t write all of these. Some probably fit his mood, or what he was trying to say, better. And, um…” Matthew trails off as he comes to their last question. “I’m not for sure why he didn’t tell everyone… We just… I think we just wanted to keep it between us.”

He should feel grateful for their stares-for the fact that they haven’t forgotten him already- but instead he feels sick. Are they wondering what else he and Alfred have kept to themselves? Are they angry with him for not saying anything sooner? 

“…that makes sense.” 

Matthew stills at Francis’s voice and turns to the man, who is smiling at him gently. On his other side, Arthur agrees. 

“Alfred never really liked to tell everyone everything. Even when he was little…” He smiles in remembrance. “And as close as you two are, Matthew, it’s normal to have some things between yourselves.” 

Yes, as close as they were… and he still didn’t see what was happening. Didn’t see Alfred falling apart, didn’t feel the need to question when his smile was a little too big. They still talked about things that bothered them, still vented to each other… but he had missed it. What kind of brother was he? 

They’re trying to apply pressure to wound, but instead of stopping the bleeding it feels like they’re rubbing the salt in deeper.

Matthew finds himself nodding anyway, swallowing thickly, as they continue with the playlist. 

The songs begin to take a darker turn, but still maintain a certain reassuring tone. They have their ups and downs, as if going through some sort of internal struggle, before they-rather abruptly- start to take a plunge. 

It’s chilling to hear the dark tone to the lyrics, and the feelings they evoke. It’s heartbreaking to hear the quiet suffering in Alfred’s voice as he sings them, as he takes that darkness inside him and puts it out there for the world to see… if only for a moment. 

They all know what he’s going through as they listen, in one way or the other… but it’s a revelation all its own to hear the undisguised, unadulterated seriousness of the American’s feelings laid out for them.

What hits Matthew the most are the little things; the trembling breath Alfred gives after a long hold, the sad laugh he makes after a particularly wry line, the thump-thump-thump his fingers or foot make near the microphone when moving to the beat… the tense huff of air he lets out when venting one song only makes him feel worse when it should have made him feel better. 

It’s as if he’s there with him again, watching him fall apart… and he can’t do anything about it. It’s that same overwhelming feeling of frustration and guilt he felt after Alfred had fallen apart in that meeting. After he’d broken down. Matthew can’t move… can’t do anything but listen helplessly. 

The playlist continues for a few more songs, each one worse than the last. And then… just like that, it ends.

Before anyone else can think to move, Matthew’s hand is already reaching to stop the thing from repeating. He doesn’t want to listen anymore. He can’t. 

The room is absolutely silent, each nation taking in the information and insight they had just been given. Part of him is grateful for that, for the fact that they actually listened to what he had said. The rest of him… 

The rest is so _angry_. 

It comes at him out of nowhere, and suddenly it’s crushing his chest and digging into his lungs. It has nothing to do with any of the other nations around him… It’s all for himself. And it _burns_. 

“Excuse me.”

The words work their way out of his mouth of their own accord, and before anyone can try to stop him he’s already out of the room. His back presses against the door, throat constricting as he tries to remember how to breathe. 

The next thing he knows he’s leaning against one of the hall walls, head in his hands. He wants to scream, cry, and dig his hand through the plaster at the same time.

_God, what kind of brother am I…_

He should have known, should have done something… That’s all he can think.

The door opens down the hall, and Matthew almost loses it. 

Almost. 

He’s expecting Francis or Arthur, maybe even Roderich. What he finds when he looks up, however… is none of the above. Instead, he finds Elizabeta walking towards him. He… had barely seen her since he had been here, actually. Just brief sightings of her when he had first arrived, and then once in the room she had just come from.

“How are you holding up...?”

He shrugs, resisting the urge to snap at her. Though… he doesn’t think he could trust his voice right now if he tried. 

She’s only worried… They all are. God knows he hasn’t been acting right since the meeting. 

She sits against the wall across from him, appearing oddly relaxed. It’s a bit different from how the other nations gazes feel… when they tell him it’s not his fault; try to empathize with him. She chides softly, a sad smile gracing her lips, “You look like Gilbert when he had to bring Ludwig in.”

That catches Matthew off guard. He’s heard about other nation’s lows in passing, vague mentions, but…it’s new for one of them to talk about it outright. “Really…?” His voice comes out wobbly, and quiet, and he curses himself.

She nods, paying no mind to his moment of weakness. “He was beside himself. And it’s hard to get him to calm down on a normal day…” She laughs softly, eyes distant, as if reliving the memory. “It wasn’t a good day for anyone, finding out… but it hit him especially hard.” Her eyes lock onto his, and Matthew starts to wonder if Roderich isn’t the only one who knows what’s going on in his head. She continues slowly, as if testing her waters,

“I think he thought he could have changed it if he had done more. If he had paid more attention, or looked in the right places. He felt the blame was all on him.” 

Something constricts in his chest, and it burns even more than before… Hurts almost more than listening to the songs. Tears sting his eyes as he lowers them.

He had sometimes wondered how Elizabeta had taken care of Feliciano and, briefly, Lovino all those centuries ago… especially when he had heard the Italians had been even more of a handful then. But this is probably the longest conversation he’s had with anyone since the incident… and he’s starting to understand why.  
The words hurt, but… it’s somehow different coming from her. More genuine, and… less like someone is stepping on glass around him.

She continues, “I don’t know what this is like for you… I really don’t, but… I’m sure overwhelming doesn’t even begin to describe it. Please remember that you have people you can talk to, okay? People who will listen to you, if you need them to...”

Matthew has to blink hard as he nods. Part of him feels cold at those words, like it’s already too late for them… but the rest is already chanting, ‘better late than never.’ “I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind…” That’s not enough, and he knows it. He can’t even find it in him to bark up a thank you, but the older nation doesn’t seem to mind.  
With a nod, Elizabeta helps herself up. In the pause that ensues, both of them can catch rustling from the living room. “I think that’s your brother…” She mutters with a warm smile. “I did make snacks for everyone, just in case. He’s probably hungry.”

Matthew finds himself biting back a small smile at that. She’s prepared, at least, and that helps.

_

Roderich has to fight back a smile as he watches the two. They both have a very intimate way of interacting with one another, especially when music is involved. 

They had moved to the music room after eating. Alfred and Matthew, thankfully, seem to be in a bit of a better mood after getting something in their stomachs. 

He is letting the two use the room as their playground. It’s his job to understand how they function together, especially in these initial sessions. Not only Alfred and his musical styles and tastes, but how he interacts with Matthew; how the two create their own type of rhythm together. 

Right now, he’s learning what type of music they enjoy, and hate; what music sets them off, or loosens them up. The notes are adding up in his head. 

He is interested in starting to talk with Alfred and figure out the questions the music has dredged up. After all, talking to Alfred and-more importantly- getting him to talk back, will be just as crucial as understanding his music. But… it will take time for him to get comfortable. And that’s alright, because time is something they have plenty of. 

He’s hoping if he lets them interact here in a way they’re used to will help with that process, even if-at the current moment- they’re pretending he isn’t there at all. 

Still, the mental notes continue.

Alfred enjoys to sing the lower notes, while Matthew is particularly fond of the higher ones. They both have a knack for the piano and guitar, and start to lose themselves usually around the second verse whatever song they’re playing. Matthew likes to play the electric guitar when he’s riled up, while Alfred likes to play it when he’s more relaxed. Alfred is fond of alternative rock, and Matthew switches between lighter reassuring pieces and rather disgruntled ones. 

There is one thing he’s noticed above all else, though…

The two love to egg each other on. 

They seem to know just what tone of voice, expression, or body language to use to get the right reaction out of the other; to get each other to vent and enjoy themselves in the fullest way possible. It’s… oddly endearing. 

It’s a testament to how well they know each other… and how hard this must be on them. 

Roderich can only hope that learning these things and letting them get comfortable in their own ways will do nothing but help in the coming sessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how this one turned out for the most part, and I hope you all enjoyed it. 
> 
> For those of you who might be curious what type of songs might have been in the playlist...
> 
> Beginning: Those Nights (Skillet), It's My Life (Bon Jovi), Keep Your Head Up (Andy Grammar), Upside Down (Set It Off), Renegades (X Ambassadors), Move Along (All-American Rejects)
> 
> Middle: The Older I Get (Skillet), What About Everything (Carbon Leaf), Demons(Icon for Hire), People Live here (Rise Against), Awake Too Long (Rise Against), The Black Parade (My Chemical Romance), Never Surrender (Skillet)
> 
> End: Hero (Skillet), Make It Stop (Rise Against), Worth Dying for (Rise Against), Collapse (Rise Against), Nightmare (Set It Off), Perfect (Icon for Hire), Madness in Me (Skillet)


End file.
